Protocol
by bluedana
Summary: A routine diplomatic visit turns dangerous for Archer and Hoshi. COMPLETE! Thanks for your reviews!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hey, it's my first story, so please forgive any technical snafus. Please review if you want; my ego is due for an overhaul.

**Setting: **This story is set pre-Expanse and all that.

**Disclaimer: **_ST:Ent_ characters are owned by Paramount, not me. Obviously. Because if they were mine, I wouldn't have ruined their friendships or treated them so shabbily.

**Chapter One: The Protocol Packet **

He was always quiet during the morning senior crew meetings. Typically, he would just listen, fixing his gaze on whoever was reporting, giving that person the courtesy of his full attention. He already knew the contents of each report. He believed in letting his senior staff run their own departments without undue interference, yet he could recite in an instant what issues each chief faced on a day to day basis. These were mundane meetings, quick discussions regarding whether the ship was running low on stores, or whether any navigational changes needed to be made.

He was different over a meal. Often he would request the presence of one officer or another over breakfast or dinner, it didn't matter. On those occasions, he was softer, more friendly, gently teasing even his Vulcan second in command. It was as if over dinner he laid aside the heavy mantle of starship captain and for a few moments indulged in the freedom of friendship and a common love of the stars.

But during staff meetings, the captain was thoughtful and attentive, all business. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed finished his quick but thorough report on the ongoing upgrade of the weapons systems. He sat back with a satisfied, "That's it, sir."

Jonathan Archer gave a brisk nod, "Thank you, Malcolm. Let me know if you need to take the engines off-line again. We can schedule that during Delta shift." He rested his elbows on the conference table, tented his hands in front of his chin, and turned his head slightly to the left for the last status report. "Ensign?"

As expected, Travis Mayweather pulled up a star chart on the screen. "We should be in the Daenaris system in about two days. Another half day after that and we'll be in hailing range of Avdev for final approach and orbit coordinates."

"The Avdevi do not allow orbit of the planet itself," observed T'Pol. "There is a docking station near one of its moons. From there, they transport visitors, escorted, to the surface by shuttle."

Travis smiled. "As long as they don't make me parallel park, I think it'll be okay."

Archer noted T'Pol's quick, curious flicker of expression, but declined to explain the reference. "Well, if nobody has anything else to add, we're adjourned." His staff rose from their chairs and made their way to the door, chatting amongst themselves. T'Pol, as usual, hung back, keeping herself ever so slightly separate from her shipmates.

"_H'lya t'shnara meth_," Archer said quietly. T'Pol froze, then turned slowly in the doorway. Her gaze was steady as she stared at him for a moment. "That is Vulcan." The fact that she stated the obvious gave voice to her surprise.

Immediately Archer's defenses went up like force field. He straightened his spine and raised his chin, expecting cutting criticism at his very first attempt to communicate with his second in command in her native language. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut, rather than give in to the impulse to demonstrate his new hobby. "I'm sure I mangled it pretty badly," he said, his pride at mastering those few tongue-twisting syllables disappearing like mist.

"As with any other language, Vulcan takes practice," T'Pol replied impassively. "But that was satisfactory for a beginner."

"Thanks," Archer said, knowing both that she would not say so if it were not true, and that this was all the praise he was going to get from her. "I'll see you on the bridge in a few minutes." She left the ready room, reflecting on the captain's unceasing ability to surprise her.

Interesting, T'Pol thought to herself. The captain did not usually display much, if any, interest in things Vulcan, other than to make sure there was some edible dish for T'Pol to consume at communal meals. And he never, ever willingly made himself vulnerable to what she knew he considered to be her Vulcan condescension of Earth and humans. She did not mean to appear condescending at all, not that any of the _Enterprise_ crew would ever believe that. They were friendly to a fault, but her culture and upbringing did not allow her to process their overtures. Often, she felt like a parent surrounded by small children; every so often one of them would approach, open faced and smiling, to include her in their lives. She was getting better, she thought, at accepting their overtures with respect, at least.

But Archer remained aloof, an improvement, certainly, over the hostility he had displayed when T'Pol had first been assigned to _Enterprise_ by Vulcan High Command. Even so, once in a great while he showed to her the same impish sense of humor, the same concern for her comfort, for which he was so admired by his crew. Of their loyalty to him, she had no doubt. Hers, she was still working on.

She slipped onto the bridge and took up her customary position, picking up her studies where she had left off. Part of her duties as second in command was to prepare the ship and her crew for first contact. That was the mission facing them now, and her briefing of the captain was of utmost importance. First contacts had, by and large, been difficult for the humans, even with the vast database grudgingly provided to them by the well-traveled Vulcans.

Per Starfleet's orders, _Enterprise_ was paying a short visit to the planet Avdev, the government of which had extended a formal invitation upon being notified that the starship would be passing through the system. The Vulcans, who had made their first contact with Avdev half a century ago, had described the Avdevi as "somewhat taxing." T'Pol seriously wondered if Archer had the patience to deal with them, even for one day.

The captain entered the bridge, but, per his standing order and in keeping with his informal style, no announcement was made. He slid into the command chair and immediately turned his attention to his data PADD.

After some time, Hoshi Sato turned. "Sir, I've received the protocol packet from the Avdevi regarding Head of State visits."

Archer straightened. "Head of state? I thought it was just a short visit, a couple of photo ops and we're out of there."

Hoshi shook her head. "Well, there's a formal reception and banquet after your speech at Parliament. . . "

"Speech! Who said anything about giving a speech?"

T'Pol commented, "The invitation extended to you mentioned your addressing the Members of Parliament in session. It would be both unwise and impolite to refuse."

Archer smirked. "Then I suggest you start writing, T'Pol. You don't want to leave this task to me."

T'Pol studied him for a moment, then agreed, "Understood." Who knew what would come out of his mouth, unscripted?

"I need to brief you on protocol, sir," Hoshi added. "It's quite involved."

"You don't think I can handle it?" Archer's voice was amused.

"Er, I doubt it, sir. There are so many rules of protocol, I thought for a second I was reading a textbook on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." She laughed. "There are rules governing how many people can be in a room at one time, who gets spoken to first, how food is eaten, it's endless."

"According to the database," T'Pol explained, "Avdev is comprised of five major land masses, only three of which are habitable. The other two, each about the size of Earth's Australia, are used strictly for agriculture and raising livestock. The government is a representative one, a loose conglomeration of states, although there is also a strict caste system in place."

"Some Avdevi are more equal than others," Archer commented.

"Quite," T'Pol answered. "There are thirty-five different cultural groups represented in Parliament, and each group had its own belief systems, languages, dialects, and government prior to the merge. The complicated protocol system is the only way all of those disparate groups can function together. Still, there is a small, but violent underground anti-government movement, called the Pindad. There is yet no consensus about how to deal with the insurgents."

"Are we talking about government by committee?"

"Yes," put in Hoshi, "and from what I've read, it works just about as efficiently as you might expect. By the way, I'm one hundred twenty pages into this packet, and I'm still in the 'Proper Greetings' section."

Archer knew when he was in over his head. "Okay," he sighed, "schedule a briefing for you, me, and T'Pol tomorrow at ten hundred hours. We'll work on it all day if we have to."

By fifteen hundred twenty hours the following day, Archer was ready to bang his head against the bulkhead until one or the other dented. He was not a man prone to giving up, but at last he sighed, "I can't remember all of this." Somewhere around the rule against bowing at the waist in mixed company, or maybe the thirteen different levels of the legislature – each with its own form of address – he conceded defeat.

T'Pol sat patiently in the corner, observing and offering advice, but Hoshi had taken to pacing the room like an exasperated teacher. "No, captain, you have to use your _left_ hand when passing documents to persons higher than the fifth level, no, your other left – here, let me show you."

"Better yet, Hoshi," Archer snapped with a glint in his eye, "you're coming with me." Her mouth dropped open. "I can't memorize all this stuff and I don't want to cause an intergalactic incident by touching my fork before the Prime Minister raises her glass, or, you know, pissing on a tree. You're coming with me as my Protocol Liaison."

Hoshi turned to T'Pol for support. "I really don't think I'm the person to do this, why don't you take the Sub-Commander?"

A small smile played around T'Pol's mouth. "I agree with the captain, Ensign Sato. You are uniquely suited to preventing this particular . . . intergalactic incident." The Sub-Commander's expression clearly added, Better you than me.

"I –" Hoshi looked from the captain to the Sub-Commander. Looking down, she muttered, "Well, I guess I'll just notify them that there will be two in the party."

"We're done here?" Archer sounded like a school boy anticipating being dismissed for summer vacation. Hoshi began to shrug, and he was out the door almost before she finished the gesture.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: **Back Home, I'm A Pilot**

Avdev hung between three moons, but _Enterprise_ did not get near enough to orbit above its atmosphere. She was docked at Avdev's outermost moon, an elaborate space station which acted as a buffer zone between the planet and the rest of the inhabited galaxy.

Commander Tucker checked his idling engines once again. "Okay, Captain, we can power down to the bare minimum while you're gone. There's an independent power source here for visitin' vessels, and it looks like they have a pretty extensive refuelin' and maintenance section here, too. Never hurts to give the old girl an overhaul when you have the chance."

Archer shifted his shoulders in the heavy, stiff, brilliantly green garment he was trapped in. "I'm sure you'll keep yourself very busy, Trip." The sleeves of the formal jacket barely allowed his arms to bend. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Well, you sure look important," Trip offered. The door to the docking bay opened, and Hoshi glided in. Both men's mouths dropped open at her outfit.

It was a long robe, made of the same stiff material, also green, but which covered Hoshi from earlobe to floor. Her hair was pulled back, and a matching flat headpiece covered the crown of her head. She reached up and tugged the headpiece slightly forward. "Hi, guys," she said.

"You look amazin'!" Trip managed. "I mean, really regal. I'm gonna have to start calling you Empress Hoshi."

"Actually," she replied bookishly, "the robe signifies that I am an honored guest, but the color and shape of the headpiece means I'm unmarried, unavailable, and foreign."

"How do these people get dressed in the mornin'?" Trip marveled.

"Shall we?" Archer forced his elbow to bend and offered it to Hoshi. The door hissed open, and they stepped into the Avdevi space station.

Two tedious hours later, after they had passed through the decontamination chamber, a tall, gangly Avdevi male - the first actual person they had seen – greeted them with a melodic speech and a complicated series of hand gestures. As required, Archer answered appropriately, and appeared to do it to their host's satisfaction, as he graced them with a wide smile.

"It is our honor to have you here, Captain Jonathan Archer, and you, Ensign Hoshi Sato! I am Dlvec, your guide and liaison. Anything you require, it will be my pleasure to obtain."

"Thank you," Archer answered gratefully. He was buoyed by the accomplishment of greeting his host, but already impatient to return to the ship.

"Come," said Dlvec, "your transport awaits."

The transport was a sleek, aerodynamic shuttlepod, which could, it appeared to Archer, travel both in air and on terrain. Inside, it looked like a sedan, with enough room for four or five people to relax comfortably in the soft seats. Hoshi and Archer climbed into the back of the sedan, while Dlvec slid into the front. The humans were nearly swallowed by the roomy seats; the average Avdevi was proportionately half a meter larger than the average human. Hoshi's feet didn't touch the floor.

Archer noticed that the sedan had no steering wheel or joystick, only what appeared to be buttons and dials lying flush with the dashboard. He was intrigued by the fluid movement of Dlvec's fingers as they trailed over the controls, steering the vehicle through the atmosphere effortlessly.

"Would you mind if I sat in the front seat?" Archer asked. "I'd love to see how this works. I've never seen anything like it."

Dlvec seemed to look around carefully, then nodded. "You may climb over." He didn't have to ask twice.

Archer immediately began to identify the controls: altimeter, air speed gauge, steering mechanism. Dlvec was impressed with his knowledge. "Back home, I'm a pilot," Archer said. They both immediately launched into enthusiastic comparisons of the various crafts they had flown. Hoshi rolled her eyes at the technospeak and turned her attention out the window.

Under the wispy clouds, Avdev was all turquoise water and beige and green land mass. Dlvec took a scenic route to the surface, showing off his planet's features proudly. There were cities that almost literally shone, their tall buildings made of highly polished, deeply colored stone. Vehicles sped by them, but never came close to intercepting each others' paths, while on the ground below, glittering white roads were laid out in graceful curving patterns. Archer craned his head, peering out all windows at once to take it all in.

They landed softly and drove by surface to the magnificent Parliament building, a towering, graceful structure of curved blue stone, lacking square corners anywhere. To Archer's vision, the proportions seemed slightly "off," with no smooth, flat surface on which to rest his eye. "It looks like a 3-D Salvador Dali painting," Hoshi whispered, used to rectangular buildings and cities designed on a grid system. The air, she noticed, was just thin enough to be noticeable, but not enough to make normal breathing difficult. It reminded her of a vacation she had spent in Denver, Colorado.

There were twenty minutes of introductions to the Prime Minister, then another hour of conversation regarding the various aspects of Earth and Avdev. To Archer's unpracticed eye, distinctions between the ethnicities and castes were indiscernible. The Avdevi, while fully humanoid, were all taller than him by at least one or two feet, and although their movements were fluid and graceful, they did not possess the same head, body, arm and leg proportions he was used to seeing. The Avdevi were not particularly interested in the seemingly endless diversity of Archer's planet; they were, however, eager to explore their own intricate society with him. The end result of this initial meeting was an agreement to exchange more formal ambassadors between Earth and Avdev.

Parliament was then called into session, and the Prime Minister excused herself, expressing regret that they could not continue their fascinating conversation. Archer hid his relief.

Dlvec led them to the Honored Guest Anteroom, withdrawing to announce their presence to the Parliament and to allow them to gather their thoughts. Hoshi handed Archer his PADD of notes; he barely glanced at it, having spent most of the previous night practicing T'Pol's prose. Right now, he just concentrated on not puking from the worst case of nerves he'd ever experienced.

Suddenly, there was a sound of thunderous applause, and Dlvec opened the door to the Great Hall and gestured for them to enter. The Great Hall was just that – the size of a regulation football field, filled to the brim with Avdevi dignitaries. If there were ethnic or cultural differences, he couldn't tell what they might be. He walked behind Dlvec and Hoshi to the dais, feeling profoundly blessed by Hoshi's presence, because every last protocol lesson abruptly flew out of his head. Prodded by his Protocol Liaison, he greeted the Parliamentary Head, the Prime Minister, and all of the members of the Cabinet, one by one. Hoshi gave directions _sotto voce_, and managed to keep her captain from making any major _faux pas_. His ramrod straight military bearing stood him in good stead as he was formally welcomed by each dignitary.

Miles above, the crew gathered around monitors on the bridge and in the common rooms, watching the satellite broadcast of the event. In command, T'Pol engaged the bridge view screen to observe. From time to time, Trip, standing behind Malcolm, would nudge his colleague, beaming with pride.

Speaker after speaker acknowledged the honored visitors, each employing more flowery rhetoric than the one before. Finally, the last speaker introduced the Prime Minister, who introduced the honored guest speaker. Archer stood, gripping his notes hard, and addressed the crowd.

It was a good thing he trusted T'Pol with his life and his career, because he didn't hear a word he said. But from the ovation he received at the end of his twelve minutes of remarks, he gathered he had said all the right things. Unbeknownst to him, on the bridge, T'Pol mouthed the words along with Archer, nodding as each point of emphasis was greeted with appropriate applause.

The satellite transmission ended, and the crew went back to their duties.

From the Great Hall, Archer and Hoshi were swept to the Banquet Hall, which was laid out with more delicacies than Archer could even count. Course after course was placed before them, glorious sculptures of fruit and roasted meat dishes that made Archer's mouth water like Victoria Falls. Hoshi surreptitiously scanned each dish, a subtle head-shake warning her captain away from any dish containing harmful elements, such as the jelly-like substance with enough potassium in it to send a human into a coma. Dlvec, as well, guided them away from lethally sweet or spicy foods, much to the humans' relief.

For all of the magnificent foods displayed, Archer averaged maybe one bite per dish. Delegate after delegate approached with the signature Avdevi combination of curiosity and politeness, each wanting to honor the guest with showers of attention. Each time a delegate approached, Archer rose determinedly and followed the complicated steps of greeting laid out in the protocol packet. By the time he encountered the twenty-seventh delegate, Archer didn't even need Hoshi's whispered proddings to make it through the whole process.

Archer looked longingly at his glass of Avdevi wine, his throat parched from the constant talking, his back sore from holding himself upright on furniture made for a gangly Avdevi a third again his size, his legs fatigued from the endless calisthenics of sitting and standing. He could tell that Hoshi was fading as well, trying as she was to follow three different conversations at once. He shot her an encouraging smile, and she leaned toward him to make a comment.

Suddenly, there was a series of loud explosions at the far end of the Banquet Hall. Immediately, smoke began to billow through the room, throwing the delegates into instant panic. More explosions rocked the room, sending chunks of blue mortar and stone hurtling from the vaulted ceiling onto the tables and chairs below.

Archer pulled Hoshi to the floor as the ceiling crashed around them. He covered her with his body, and wrapped his forearms across the back of his head. Hoshi heard him grunt as a giant chunk of stone landed less than six inches from his head.

Abruptly, they were both yanked up in one movement, and Dlvec thrust his anguished face at them. "Run - come with me now!" They jumped to their feet and bolted after him toward the nearest unjammed exit.

Dlvec led them through the kitchen, down several narrow hallways packed at the sides with supplies, and out a small door into an alleyway. Explosions still shook the building, and now the moans of the wounded could be heard.

"We should help them," Archer panted, staring over his shoulder at the horror behind them.

"I must protect our honored guests," Dlvec replied, not breaking stride for an instant. Forgoing protocol entirely, he grabbed each of them by their heavy sleeves and dragged them along. They stumbled trying to keep up with Dlvec's long-legged strides.

Their guide nearly threw them into the sedan. Before they could shut the doors, Dlvec dived into the front seat and started the engine. The ground shook beneath the wheels as the sedan became airborne.

Hoshi peered out of the window and gasped. Below, a full quarter of the building had collapsed. Bodies lay strewn along the boulevard. Fire had engulfed the roof.

As the sedan sped into the clouds, Dlvec said, "We'll make for the embassy. It's a strong, secure building. This has to be the work of the insurgents. They will not be able to penetrate there."

"Have they attacked like this before?" Archer asked. The information provided by the Vulcan database had suggested a small insurgency, not one capable of this level of terrorism.

"They have been getting more forceful of late, but nothing on this scale," Dlvec replied, concentrating closely. He swerved to avoid a vehicle just in front of them, then banked sharply as another, larger craft came up suddenly beside them. Narrowly missing the other, truck-like vehicle, he subjected his passengers to a stomach churning drop in altitude. The other two vehicles followed, and then suddenly there were three more cars with them in the air. Dlvec's skill kept them from smashing into buildings as he flew much too low through the populated city.

Hoshi and Archer bounced around in the back seat helplessly. There were no seat belts and no hand holds. The top of the driver's seat was too broad for a human hand span. Several times, Archer was thrown against Hoshi, crushing her against the side of the car. He braced his feet against the door, legs across her lap, trying to keep her and himself from being flung around.

"We are being herded," Dlvec said, a little frantically. His maneuvers had taken them beyond the city limits and over the water. Archer hoped desperately that they would be over land again soon. He knew they had no chance of survival if they slammed into the bay at this speed. The sedan banked again, as Dlvec headed across the bay toward one of the agricultural continents, accelerating madly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Archer saw what was, unmistakably, a weapon. "Get down!" he shouted, shoving Hoshi's head unceremoniously down to her knees. A flash of light, and the sedan shuddered under the glancing hit. Dlvec dived again, brushing the tops of the tallest trees, their frondy branches whispering underneath them. More direct hits buffeted the craft. The attackers clearly meant business.

"Are there any weapons on board?" Archer yelled over the scream and whine of the overtaxed engine. He would be damned if he would go out without a fight.

"There is a box beneath the seat, on the right side," Dlvec cried, clearly beginning to understand that he could not outrun the five attackers. Hoshi leaned over and yanked the soft sided briefcase-like pouch out and open. Dlvec chose that moment to fly straight toward one of the vehicles, an Avdevi game of chicken which resulted in the attacker veering off, slamming into a tree, and exploding.

Archer checked to see that the weapons, two non-projectile types similar to _Enterprise's_ phase pistol, but bigger and heavier, were charged, and passed one to Hoshi. "Shoot to kill, Ensign," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," she answered without hesitation, lowered her window a crack and began firing. A moment later, another attacker went screaming into a high speed spiral and crashed into the ground with a bloom of flame. A small craft veered off and streaked away.

"I think there are only two l-" Dlvec never finished his sentence. The driver's side window shattered, and Dlvec spasmed as the phaser beam caught him in the chest. He fell to his side on the seat. The sedan flew on at top speed.

"Keep firing, Hoshi," Archer yelled, handing her the other weapon. He flung himself over the seat back, wedging himself into the driver's position next to Dlvec's body. He quickly found what he thought were the important gauges, the altimeter and the speedometer, but his relief was short-lived as he realized in the same moment that he had no idea what the measurements meant. He would still have to guess at his altitude and speed. As a test pilot, he was trained to land aircraft without instruments, but every plane he had ever flown had had at least a joystick or steering column. This craft had simply a series of buttons and dials he didn't recognize, marked in a language he couldn't read, and absolutely nothing to hold onto.

He put his fingers into position, approximating what he had seen Dlvec do. The sedan responded by turning sharply right. He overcompensated, and the vehicle dipped down and to the left. Hoshi shrieked in the back as the sedan was clipped by the big truck. She fired, aiming for what she hoped was the driver's head. The smaller vehicle spun wildly before Archer wrestled it back under control.

Hoshi fired again, and this time, was gratified to see the shadow of the driver lurch and slump forward. The truck kept flying straight, however, and collided with the last attacking vehicle which was coming back around toward them. Together, the two vehicles nose-dived until she could see only a brilliant flash of blue and gold, then a column of thick black smoke.

With their attackers gone, Hoshi and Archer hurtled through the sky, just above the tree line, with no hope of a controlled landing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Swearing Quietly In Every Language 

"Hoshi," Archer said, his voice almost supernaturally calm. "Get down behind the driver's seat, put your head down, and assume the crash position. This won't be a soft landing."

"Yes, sir." She did what she was told, and folded herself in half, hands covering her head.

Archer grimly checked his altitude and attitude out the side windows. He guessed his airspeed to be at least a hundred miles an hour still. He had to slow the craft down. The brake pedal, mercifully, was located on the floor, just in reach of his right toe. He hyper-extended his leg, trying to keep the sedan straight at least, and applied a little pressure. He felt the speed drop off slightly. He could see, about two miles away, an area of smaller bushes surrounded by thick-trunked trees. If he was lucky – very, very lucky – the bushes might provide enough of a drag to stop the sedan before it hit the trees. The landing gear, even if he could find it and engage it in time, would be unnecessary. He concentrated on decreasing his airspeed while keeping the altitude steady.

The engine stalled. "This is not good," Archer muttered to himself. "Come on, baby, come on," he coaxed through gritted teeth. But whatever pilot luck he had tapped into had run out. They were still coming in too fast, and now they were falling out of the sky.

"Hang on," Archer shouted, just before touchdown. The measure of his skill was proved in his ability to keep the nose of the craft slightly elevated as they slid into the surface, saving them from drilling into the ground like a hammered nail. The bushes scraped the underside of the sedan with a sickening crunch, and friction did its job as the branches hugged the aircraft and stole its speed. The sedan hit a tangle of limbs that sent it spinning ass over teakettle toward the now very close line of trees.

With no steering wheel to hold onto, Archer became airborne inside the vehicle. The sedan smashed into a large tree, which became the immovable object to the vehicle's irresistible force. Archer, unrestrained, slammed into the windshield almost horizontally, head and right shoulder first, then flopped back to tangle with Dlvec's lifeless and also unanchored body.

After the scream of engines and the deafening crash of trees being ripped from the ground, the silence was eerie. Hoshi took a quick inventory of her injuries; she could tell they were minor – no broken bones, and she was fully conscious, at least. With difficulty, she pushed open her door and crawled outside. There was no movement anywhere. Unsteadily, she reached for the driver's side door and wrenched it open, afraid of what she would see.

It was worse than she had imagined even in those few seconds. Archer lay crumpled, covered in bright red blood, half on and half off of the seat. Dlvec was sprawled on top of him with a gaping burn hole in his chest. The entire front of the vehicle was crushed inward; the craft had hit a giant tree head-on. The windshield was spider webbed and splintered.

Only semi-conscious, Archer instinctively began to crawl out of the vehicle. She could not see his face under all the blood gushing from his head wound and a myriad of facial lacerations. He reached a hand out toward the ground, but, pinned, could not move his body.

Already sore, Hoshi grabbed Archer underneath his arms and tugged. It took a few minutes just to extricate him from the wreck, which was now beginning to smoke. Her movements became more urgent as she pictured the sedan catching fire and blowing up. "Focus, Hoshi," she commanded herself, trying to fight down her spiraling panic. One last tug, and Archer tumbled from the sedan, sprawling on the thickly leafed ground. She dragged him a few feet away from the vehicle. His breathing was shallow and labored, but there. She sprinted back to the sedan.

Dlvec showed no signs of life, so she grabbed the phase pistols, and then, on impulse, opened a glove-box-like compartment underneath the accordioned dashboard. There was a device she assumed and hoped was a transmitter, so she took that, too. She stuffed everything into the case that had held the phase pistols and slung it over her shoulder.

Retracing her steps, she found Archer trying to raise himself on one arm. "Captain," she said, "let me see how badly you're hurt." He got one leg bent underneath himself, and tried to push himself up with his left hand. It was then she saw his right arm dangling uselessly by his side. "Captain," she said again, "let me help you. Your shoulder's dislocated. Don't lean on it." Looking around at the devastation, she knew their position would not be difficult to see from the air. "Captain," she tugged urgently at his now bloody formal jacket, "we have to move."

He lifted his face to her, but did not otherwise respond. Concussion, she thought, relieved that the scanner she had been using at the banquet was still attached to the belt of her trousers, under her robe. She tugged again. Archer was barely conscious now.

"Come on," she pleaded, trying to pull him to his feet. He swayed on his knees. Desperate, she placed her mouth directly next to his ear and screamed, "ON YOUR FEET, SOLDIER! MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"

Archer drew a deep, deep breath in through his nose, and heaved himself to his feet with one push. Leaning heavily on her, he blindly placed one foot in front of the other as she pushed, pulled, and cajoled him deeper into the forest. The sun was setting, and in the growing darkness, knots of plant roots seemed to reach out and grab his feet. He stumbled often, moving on sheer willpower, trying to orient himself through the haze of pain and blood. All he knew was the solid warmth of Hoshi's shoulder, her sharp insistent teacher's voice prodding him onward, and the piercing agony of each breath he drew.

Hoshi kept walking until she found exactly what she was looking for: a small clearing under a canopy of branches and leaves, invisible from the air. A tiny spring gurgled nearby, and a few fallen trees formed a nook in which they could hide. She urged her exhausted captain to sit, but he resisted.

"We've got to keep going," he said, even though it was obvious that his strength was gone. It was ridiculously easy to push him down to his knees.

Hoshi dropped to the ground beside him. "We're hidden here, sir, and it's too dark to go any farther. Besides, I have to reduce your shoulder before it swells any more. Stay here." She rose and headed over to the water source, taking out her scanner. To her relief, she found that the water was within drinkable limits for humans. Cupping her hands, she found that it was cold and sweet.

Next, she stripped off the heavy robe and, with some effort, tore the lining into long strips, plunging some into the cold water. These she took back to the captain's side. "Sir, let me take a look," she said quietly, gently opening the formal jacket and sliding it off his shoulders. Like her, he was wearing a black t-shirt and trousers under the formal gear. Raising the t-shirt, she saw the livid bruise and swelling that indicated at least one broken rib. She freed his left arm first, then stretched the shirt opening over his head and down his useless right arm. His face tightened with pain, but he said nothing.

She sighed. "I have to pop the shoulder back in, sir. It'll hurt really bad for a minute." He lay on his back and turned his face away from her. From her basic first aid course, she knew what had to be done. Bracing herself, she took hold of the straightened arm, and with one mighty motion, lifted, pulled and shifted the joint back toward the center of the body.

She didn't use enough force, and Archer's strangled cry almost made her lose her grip. "Sorrysorrysorry," she bawled, and tried again, before she lost her nerve. This time, the shoulder snapped back into the socket, leaving Archer gasping and shaking on the ground, swearing quietly in every language he could think of.

After a few minutes, she coaxed him to a sitting position and wrapped his ribs with the strips of her robe. She laid his injured arm against his chest, bent at the elbow, and secured it tightly with more make-shift bandages. As she helped him back into his t-shirt, and wiped the blood from his forehead with a wet cloth, she noticed how pale and clammy his skin was. Beads of perspiration ran down his cold face. Shock was setting in.

Archer's voice was strained. "Are you hurt, Hoshi?"

"No, sir, I'm not. That was some landing, though."

"Dlvec's dead?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

He closed his eyes as she probed the matted hair covering the deep gash on his head. "There's no way of knowing where we ended up."

"I found an emergency transmitter in the car, I think. Maybe it has a GPS in it."

Archer opened one glassy eye and peered up at Hoshi. "Good job. We just need to find a high point for you to try to pick up a signal."

She stared at him. "I can't leave you, sir."

"You need to. You'll move much faster without me. Most likely, the insurgents are closer than the authorities are, and the longer we stay out here, the worse our chances get. The government forces probably think we are still in the Parliament building somewhere." He didn't relish the idea of being left alone, but there was no other alternative. He took as deep a breath as he dared, continuing in a thready voice. "Find a high point, set the beacon, and see if you can pick up a signal. Maintain radio silence. Don't broadcast anything but the beacon, in case it's intercepted. Even if the rebels hear it, they may think it's an automated distress call."

"But what if they find you while I'm gone?" Fear and fatigue gave Hoshi's voice a plaintive edge.

_Then I'm a dead man_, Archer thought, but he answered aloud, obliquely, "It's a big rainforest. I'll be very careful. You'll have to leave at first light. Try to get a little sleep."

"I have to keep you awake, sir. You have a head injury."

He glared at her. "You're not going to be of any use if you can't walk any distance. I'll be fine. Go to sleep. That's an order, Ensign," he added, noting the mutinous line of her mouth.

In the end, she settled behind him, with her back against the fallen log and her arms lightly around his torso, him leaning on her chest, both covered by her robe. The warm, silent night settled around them as they each tried to outlast the other. Less than an hour later, they were both asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Blatant Breach of Protocol**

On board _Enterprise_, T'Pol came upon Trip and Reed having breakfast in the cafeteria. Trip waved her over on her way back from obtaining a glass of vitamin-packed juice, her typical morning repast.

"Mornin', T'Pol," Trip said as both men stood. Reed greeted her as well.

"Commander, Lieutenant," T'Pol answered. She just could not get used to human platitudes of greeting. She slid into a chair next to Reed, cupping her glass in her palms.

"Hey, T'Pol, have you heard anythin' from the captain yet?" Trip asked, curiously. "I thought maybe he'd be headin' back this mornin'."

"Avdev's orbital cycle is different from _Enterprise's_, Commander," T'Pol pointed out. "On the surface, at the landing coordinates, it is still night. Their escort will hail us when the captain and ensign are ready to return."

"Besides," put in Reed, "they may still be partying at that fancy reception, dancing until dawn."

"Jon doesn't dance," Trip snorted. "That much I do know." He took a sip of coffee. "Anyway, I was just wonderin', because I've been monitoring the satellite frequencies, and they seem to have been interrupted."

T'Pol said, "Indeed. You found that strange?" Working with this crew, T'Pol had learned to notice, if not to fully accept, certain intuitive flashes. "Could it not have been simply the end of the broadcast day?"

Trip shook his head. "That's what was so weird. The transmission stopped mid-program. I mean, one minute they were airing some documentary about ancient pre-flight history, and the next it was just dead air. Like someone had yanked the plug. All the broadcast stations, video and audio."

"What time was that?" Reed asked.

"About twenty three hundred hours, our time. Early evening where Jon is." He shrugged. "I dunno. It just felt . . . weird."

T'Pol stood up. "If you would, Lieutenant," she said to Reed, "hail the embassy for an update on the captain's itinerary." She left, looking more grave than usual.

Trip and Reed looked at each other. A worried T'Pol was never a good thing.

Half an hour later on the bridge, Reed reported, frustrated, "T'Pol, I can't get anything. It seems like transmissions are being actively jammed – nothing's getting through at all."

"Neither the captain nor the ensign has a communicator, is that correct?"

"They're not allowed on planet. All communications go through a central state-sponsored system. Only, that seems to have been shut down."

"Has there been any communication with the space station personnel?"

"According to them, no. Not since last night, like Trip said." Reed chewed his bottom lip. "This doesn't make any sense. I don't like being blind and deaf up here."

Communications remained stubbornly silent for the next thirty hours. By now, it was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong. Locked in orbit, there was nothing for Travis to do but monitor the mute frequencies. None of the senior crew slept, and Trip especially seemed to vibrate with tension.

Finally, at oh-three hundred hours on the third day of silence, Travis received a hail. He paged T'Pol and passed on the request that she be ready to receive the High Ambassador in the space station at oh-six thirty. T'Pol, in turn, requested the presence of the ship's Security Chief and Chief Engineer.

Trip was already pacing the confines of the small conference room when the High Ambassador and his entourage entered. "Okay, what the hell is going on!" he demanded as soon as the Ambassador was seated.

T'Pol shot him a quelling look, then directed her comments to the Avdevis. "Where are our people?" she asked tightly and without preamble, consciously aligning herself with the humans.

For once, the Avdevi dispensed with their elaborate courtesies. "Two evenings ago, there was an attack on the Parliament building by insurgent forces during our state reception. Fourteen citizens were killed, including three Members of Parliament. A substantial portion of the edifice was destroyed. It has taken many hours to remove the survivors from the rubble, as well as to identify the wounded and the dead."

Trip felt cold.

"We have now accounted for all persons who entered the building prior to the reception by reviewing our security data. All but three."

"Cut to the chase," Reed snapped.

"We have not located your captain or his Protocol Liaison. It seems that they, along with the escort assigned to them, an ambassador-in-training, were spirited from the building at the start of the attack." The Ambassador folded his long fingers on the table.

T'Pol kept her voice steady. "Why has it taken you so long to inform us of this event?"

The Ambassador widened his eyes. "Many negotiations among the remaining Members were necessary to come to a conclusion regarding the proper protocol for notifying you."

Trip snarled, "So, while y'all were arguing over who would break the news to us – and jamming the frequencies, hoping we wouldn't notice –" the Ambassador looked guilty, "our people could have been taken anywhere."

There was a rustle among the members of the entourage. Finally, the Ambassador admitted, "The Members had reached consensus about the manner of notification, when we received further information." He fluttered his hands helplessly. "Our forces, which, I assure you, were immediately dispatched to conduct a thorough search of the outlying areas for our most honored guests, found the transport assigned to our escort. It was crashed in the Sani region, which is unpopulated."

Reed stiffened. "Crashed. Were there any survivors?" he asked quietly, dreading the answer.

"The escort was dead. There was no sign of your crew . . . except for a great deal of blood. One or both of them, it appears, is, or was, most grievously injured."

Trip pushed back from the table, stood, and turned his back. "Ah, jeez," he murmured, putting a shaking hand over his eyes.

"The escort was not killed in the crash, however," the Ambassador continued. "He was shot to death."

Reed successfully restrained Trip from launching himself over the table at the Ambassador.

"Commander, please," T'Pol said mildly. "Mr. Ambassador. Are you telling us that our crewmembers have been kidnapped?"

Warily watching the seething commander, the Avdevi answered, "Again, we cannot be certain what precisely has happened. Our surveillance shows that Captain Archer and Protocol Liaison Sato fled the building during the attack in the company of their escort, Dlvec ad Reansgau. Their transport was found, as I said, crashed in the Sani region. There are signs of weapons fire on the exterior of the vehicle, indicating that they were chased and fired upon. We did find the wreckage of three other vehicles near the same region.

"Dlvec's body was found inside the vehicle, but the cause of death appears to be phaser fire." He handed over a covered glass slide sealed in a clear case. "You may be able to determine the identity of the injured person from this blood sample we collected." T'Pol accepted the slide without flinching. "We tracked the two humans into the rainforest, where we found evidence that they stopped for some time in a clearing. There the trail ends." He sighed heavily. "Signs indicate that one human or both were taken by force from that location. We cannot tell where either one has gone."

Reed said tightly, "I want to see whatever evidence you've gathered so far."

"Our forensics experts will be waiting for you. They are at your disposal. We simply do not know enough about your species to handle the situation from this point."

"Pity you didn't figure that out two days ago," Reed clipped out.

T'Pol took out her communicator. "T'Pol to Mayweather."

"Mayweather here."

"The Commander, the Lieutenant, and I will be transporting to the surface immediately. You have the conn. I am leaving an object here in the conference room. Please have someone retrieve it and deliver it to Dr. Phlox for analysis and identification. Stand by for further instructions."

"Yes, sir."

She tucked the communicator in her pocket, ignoring the attempted protest from the Ambassador at this blatant breach of protocol. "Let us proceed."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks for the comments so far, esp. RMice. As you can see, I'm running on the assumption that they'd only send competent people out into space. And I like my eye candy to have some brains also.

**Chapter Five: That Is A Plan; This Is A Plan**

There was light and warmth when Archer awoke. He noticed immediately that he was lying indoors, on a smooth floor. He took a mental inventory and found no new injuries besides the crushing headache and sore ribs and shoulder he had had before the Avdevi had found him. He remembered a struggle, and a bright flash of light, but apparently he had emerged from that particular fight unscathed, if also unsuccessful.

He groaned as he rolled to his knees, trying to rise. It was difficult to do using only his left hand. His right was still tightly bound to his chest underneath his shirt. Wincing, he opened his eyes to slits.

There was a pair of boots at the very corner of his vision. He followed the line of leg and body up to a mostly pleasant expressioned Avdevi man who stood staring down at him. He tried to blink away the double vision as the person uttered some tongue-twisting syllables and gestured with his hand.

"Yeah, whatever," Archer grumbled. The man walked across the room, picked up a square object the size of a personal disk player, and returned. "Great, go ahead and shoot me," Archer said tiredly.

"That is not my intention," said the man clearly. Archer squinted up at him. "I was simply inquiring whether you require assistance. I neglected to engage my translator, however."

"I've understood everybody else so far," Archer commented, trying to buy some time to get his wits together.

"Persons of my caste are not given translation devices at birth, unlike those persons of higher status you have met during your visit." He made a clearly derisive noise with his tongue. "They cannot govern who cannot communicate."

Archer grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, which he now noticed were bare. "I have been remiss," the Avdevi said. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Caicpwat fd Eeshon, of the tribe of Mdonss. You are, if I am correct,Captain Jonathan Archer of the Enterprise?"

Archer coughed gingerly. "Yes."

"I extend to you my apologies for your present situation."

"What do you want from me," Archer asked, struggling to keep his tone polite.

"_From_ you, nothing." Eeshon answered. "I am hopeful, though, that your value to me will be in the giving back."

Archer shook his head, and regretted it immediately. "I don't understand. What does that mean?"

Eeshon walked over to a high table. "Please, have some water."

Deciding he could probably catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Archer followed him across the room, climbed into a too-tall chair, and accepted the drink. He knew enough about basic Avdevi protocol by now to expect a long, cordial introductory phase before Eeshon got to the point. He let one part of his mind wander as Eeshon launched into the Visitor Courtesies. He wondered if Hoshi had had any success in contacting the ship. It was clear by the time Eeshon finished speaking that Hoshi was not in his possession. Archer felt a part of himself relax.

"Okay, now that the courtesies are out of the way," he said, trying not to sound curt, "what do you mean by my value?"

"Quite simply, you are our hostage," Eeshon replied kindly. "I represent the Pindad movement, its leader, you might say. We intend to force our government to recognize us and provide us with Parliamentary representation."

"You need me for that?" Archer growled.

"Truly. You see, Avdev is, as you know, divided into castes, and within those castes are tribes. When the Parliament was established, generations ago, after the Great and Glorious Revolution, it was decided that only tribes of a certain size would have direct governmental representation. The tribes are grouped by caste, with the highest levels having, of course, the most power. This is clear?"

"I get you."

Eeshon frowned briefly, not recognizing the turn of phrase, but continued. "My tribe, the Mdonss, is part of the lowest caste, and after the Revolution, did not meet the minimum population standard for inclusion in government. We were divided among several other tribes for purposes of representation. We wield no power and have no voice."

"This is why you've launched an insurgency, and set off those explosions?"

"Of course the ruling class would label us 'insurgents,'" Eeshon remarked, "since we threaten its legitimacy. We are entitled to our seat in Parliament. We have made that request known."

"By blowing up buildings and killing innocent people," Archer retorted.

"If it is necessary to make our demands known, then, yes."

Archer took another sip of water. "You've been at this for a while?"

"Yes, since I was very young this has been our fight."

"Well, clearly your attacks don't seem to be getting you where you want to go," Archer pointed out. "What makes you think it'll work this time?"

Eeshon smiled thinly. "Because we have you."

Hoshi peered out from under the tangle of tree limbs, where she had taken refuge from the sudden downpour of rain. She huddled under the remnants of her formal green robe, lighter and less stiff now that she had ripped the lining out to make bandages. She reflected that the rain was probably a good thing; it allowed her a chance to rest and catch her breath, anyway. She estimated that she had walked about fifteen miles, trying to get to higher ground. "Fifteen miles, uphill," she giggled to herself a little hysterically, "both ways, in the snow – and we were _grateful_!" The thin air, even more pronounced now that she was at a higher elevation, was starting to get to her. She felt lightheaded and silly.

Pulling her attention forcibly back to her predicament, she wondered if the captain was even still alive. He had been awake, but still very weak, when she had departed. About seven hours after she had set out, she had seen a shuttlepod landing in the forest beneath her. Sometime later, she heard shouting and knew then that the Avdevi, and not the friendly ones, had found him. She stayed hidden on the side of her mountain, wanting desperately to run back to the clearing, but not daring to move. Her orders were clear: get to high ground and contact the ship. Archer would not look kindly upon her if she disobeyed and allowed herself to be captured, too. She was their only hope. When the sun was at its highest, the shuttlepod took off, disappearing over the horizon. They had missed her. So she had climbed on through the day and into the night, stopping only briefly to rest until sunrise. Late into the morning, the clouds had gathered ominously and opened up.

At least the rain would wash away any tracks she had left, she thought. She popped open the transmitter case and tried again to capture a signal. Using her fingertips, she twisted the tiny dials inside the device, listening intently for any change in the hum. She froze, and turned the dial back a millimeter. There it was, a soft, almost imperceptible transmission. She bent her entire attention to boosting the gain.

The Ambassador's offices were lushly appointed, and he ushered T'Pol, Reed, and Trip into the main suite. Reed had already been escorted to the forensics laboratory to comb through the data for clues to the captain's and Hoshi's whereabouts, but there was nothing to be gained there. He despaired of finding anything helpful as the trail grew colder.

The Ambassador looked grave. "I have just been informed that we are receiving a transmission," he began. "This is disturbing, since, as you know, communications have been shut down or scrambled. Nothing should be able to get through."

"From where is it originating?" T'Pol asked.

"It is impossible to say," the Ambassador's assistant, who had been introduced as Levral, replied. "The relay of the message changes every few seconds. It can't be traced."

It was audio only, a male voice that sounded curtly unlike the flowing, smooth tones of the Ambassador. "I am Caicpwat fd Eeshon, of the Pindad," it said, without any courtesies whatsoever. "We have Jonathan Archer. I will contact you again with our demands." The transmission went dead.

_Well, hell_, Hoshi thought, _this, as the captain would say, is not good_. She took the oversized earpiece out and stared at the horizon, trying to be grateful for small mercies, such as the knowledge that at least the captain was still alive.

Trip spoke into the profound silence of the conference room. "If you bounced that signal up to _Enterprise_, I bet we'd be able to trace it."

"Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to do that," replied the Ambassador. "It is very much against the law. Not even I can circumvent it."

"I don't give a rat's ass about breaking the law," Trip said, "if it means finding the captain in one piece." The Ambassador stared impassively back at him.

T'Pol said, "You know this Caicpwat fd Eeshon?" The syllables flowed easily off her tongue.

"He is the leader of the insurgency movement, the Pindad," the Ambassador said. "They have made demands of us in the past. They are a collection of minority groups seeking to destabilize and take over the government, and they are not above using terrorist means to do it. That they have kidnapped your captain is proof enough that they were behind the bombing."

"But they only mentioned the captain," Reed observed. "Not a word about Ensign Sato. She must be still out there somewhere. But _where_?"

Archer picked at the bread and fruit on the plate in front of him. His head throbbed mercilessly, and his stomach was unsettled. He pretended to eat in order to avoid offending Eeshon. "So was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" he asked, pushing the fruit around with his finger.

"You were always a part of this plan," Eeshon said. "As an honored guest, you constitute leverage we did not have previously." Eeshon leaned forward. "Since I have never met one of your species before, I must say that I am gratified that you did not die in the demonstration as expected."

That jolted Archer. "You meant to kill me? That was the whole point?"

"When your visit was announced, we set our plan in motion. You see, the killing of an Honored Guest while he is under the protection of the government, or as a result of government action – or as in this case, inaction – is a shameful thing; even the most indifferent high born Avdevi would share in the outrage. And outrage is a perfect trigger for revolution." He smiled. "Of course, since my tribe and other dis-voiced peoples in my caste have multiplied over the generations, we now outnumber some of the highest castes. We have been preparing for war for some time now."

"But now they know that I wasn't killed. So your plan won't work." Archer fought to keep down his outrage. Coming face to face with his own attempted assassination made his head pound even harder.

"Ah, but now they must as a government negotiate with the Pindad. And if they refuse, we shall go to the humans, and demand that they give us the weapons and technology to advance our cause, in return for your release." He spread his hands. "Your Starfleet will surely see the justice of our position, and must intervene to save your life."

Archer's voice was hollow as he repeated the words he had heard all his career. "Starfleet doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

Eeshon didn't flinch. "Then we will implement our original plan and execute you publicly. Parliament will be unable to justify its failure to save your life." He held both hands out in front of himself, palms up, as if weighing two objects. "This is a plan; that is a plan. Either way, the result is the same."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: A Man's Life Is At Stake**

"They will want to negotiate for power," the Ambassador said, "and the Parliament will reject any overtures."

"Who, exactly, are 'they,'" Reed asked, trying to get a handle on the situation. T'Pol listened thoughtfully as the Ambassador explained again, in more historical detail. Trip simply prowled the room. They had been given a suite at the Embassy to use as a base. It contained comfortable, if oversized, beds, which all three _Enterprise_ officers ignored.

Despite the accommodations, there were tight restrictions on any access to official planetary resources. The Prime Minister, trying to contain the mounting disaster, had declared a state of emergency, and had ordered guards posted outside the door to the suite. The Ambassador, who technically had no jurisdiction as long as this remained solely a domestic situation, could only relay information as he received it. He neglected to mention T'Pol's communicator to the Prime Minister.

Which communicator, at this moment, began to vibrate. T'Pol slipped it out of her pocket and identified herself. It was Doctor Phlox.

"I have completed my analysis of the sample you left me," he said. The doctor's tone was characteristically jaunty even as he delivered the sobering news. "It is a match to the captain's blood, no doubt about it. I found no trace of the ensign's DNA, which I suppose is a good sign."

"Understood, Doctor." T'Pol said, catching Reed's eye. "Continue to stand by." She began to close the connection, when Reed snatched the device from her hand, convinced he was hearing things.

"What is that sound?" he exclaimed, increasing the volume to maximum. He waited, and in the next few seconds, they all heard it, a peculiar staccato static, interspersed with short bursts of silence. "There's a pattern there. It's – it's Morse Code." He closed his eyes in concentration. "_Sato to Enterprise. Sato to Enterprise._" Profoundly grateful for his family legacy of service to the Royal Navy, he began to tap with his finger, translating aloud as he went. "_Enterprise_ here."

A pause. Then, "_Come and get me._"

Reed tapped back, "Where are you?"

"_How the hell should I know_?" He could almost hear her impatience.

"Contact the ship for a scan," Trip demanded.

"All scanning capabilities are jammed," the Ambassador reminded them. "I do not have the authority to override the state of emergency. But we know the general area of the crash; perhaps your ensign could give us a description of the terrain?"

It took a substantial amount of back and forth, with Hoshi painstakingly and slowly spelling out her approximate location. When they had enough information, it was decided that involving official forces would only complicate matters. So the Ambassador sent his assistant in his personal transport vehicle to retrieve her. They reluctantly maintained radio silence to avoid alerting either the government or the insurgency of her whereabouts.

Trip concluded that Levral must have broken all existing air and land speed records in retrieving Hoshi, because, according to his chronometer, only four hours passed until she was stepping through the door. Ignoring protocol altogether, and appalling the Ambassador, for whom the concept of personal space was sacred, Trip and Reed each enveloped her in a heartfelt hug. When they finally let go, T'Pol's gaze scanned her from head to toe, noting her scrapes and bruises. "Welcome back, Ensign," she said.

"Thank you, Sub-Commander." Relief made her tremble.

"I understand that you want to return to _Enterprise_ as soon as possible," T'Pol said, "but first, we should debrief. The captain is still missing, and you may have information that will assist us in retrieving him."

"All I know is that the Pindad or whatever has him. I heard that much on this transmitter." She set the handheld device on the table and sat down.

"What was the captain's physical condition when you last saw him?" Reed asked.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He was in pretty bad shape, sir. Uh, I know he has a concussion, and probably a few broken ribs. I had to pop his shoulder back into place, because it was dislocated in the crash." Trip winced, and Hoshi caught it out of the corner of her eye. "He was conscious when I left – he ordered me to get to higher ground and try to send a signal," she added a little defensively, "and there was no way he could have made the hike. I saw them take off with him, though," she finished quietly.

"Any idea where they might have taken him?" Reed asked gently.

"No," Hoshi replied, "but you could probably pick up the global positioning signal." At their blank stares, she opened the handheld transmitter. "I took out the GPS component, which is why you couldn't track me. I tucked it between his bandages when I re-wrapped his ribs just before I left." She rubbed her eyes, which were gritty with fatigue. "Find the signal, find the captain."

"I have very little technological skill," offered the Ambassador quietly, "but I assume that if you carry this transmitter – which my staff never did recover from the crash site - to your ship, you may be able to isolate the GPS beacon as it hits the satellite relay. You will have to sort through thousands of automated signals among approximately sixty satellites, however, which could take some time."

"I thought all communications have been shut down," Trip said.

"Signals such as these are an exception. Without them, we would be unable to map weather patterns or monitor seismic activity. You certainly will not be able to have any ship to planet conversations, since you unfortunately were not able to bring down any of your own independent communications devices."

"We shall do our best under the circumstances, Ambassador," T'Pol replied, taking out her communicator and hailing _Enterprise_.

Ten hours later, T'Pol, Reed, and Trip were escorted into the presence of the Prime Minister, at her secure emergency headquarters. The Prime Minister and T'Pol exchanged courtesies for what seemed to Trip like a lifetime and a half, and then the Prime Minister turned her attention to the matter at hand.

"As you know, several of our Members of Parliament were killed in a dastardly attack a few days ago."

"We had heard," T'Pol said dryly.

"We have met in session for the past two days, discussing the situation and our options regarding the safe return of your esteemed and honorable captain." The Prime Minister folded her long hands on the table. "Four proposals for Pindad inclusion, for this is what we believe is the basis for this attack, have been made. All were defeated after full debate and open vote." She shook her head sorrowfully. "It seems we will not reach consensus on this issue."

"Let me appeal to the Members myself," T'Pol said. "Perhaps if I made a case from _Enterprise's_ point of view, some compromise could be reached."

"Oh, no," the Prime Minister replied immediately. "Outworlders are not allowed to participate in debate."

"Jon - the captain addressed the assembly," Trip noted.

"There was no issue being presented."

"But, perhaps if the Members could be convinced of the urgency of the situation," T'Pol pressed, but the Prime Minister interrupted firmly but politely, "It is not done."

"A man's life is at stake," Trip pleaded.

"It is not done," the Prime Minister repeated.

Trip's argument was cut off by an incoming message. The Prime Minister nodded to her staff to answer the hail. It was audio only.

"You are ready to accede to our demands?" Eeshon said without opening pleasantries.

The Prime Minister said, somewhat imperiously, "Neither our position on this topic nor the law has changed. The legislature has determined that there will be no new elections. Your dastardly attack will not bend us."

"Then I must break you," Eeshon replied. "I wish to speak to the Starfleet representative. Only they can save you now."

T'Pol spoke calmly and slowly. "This is T'Pol, First Officer of the Starship _Enterprise_. We demand the release of our captain."

"Certainly," replied Eeshon in a casual tone, "as soon as you download and deliver to me the entire technological and tactical database of your starship."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Thanks for the feedback, I appreciate it. I agree, gammara, that T'Pol can be warm, but I also see her as professional and focused during a crisis. RMice: Point taken regarding use of "-san"; I fixed it.

**Chapter Seven: Five More Reasons**

Travis took another snapshot of the satellite array now coming into view of the space station. For the twenty-fifth time, he and Hoshi began to track the signals to and from the satellite as it orbited the small uninhabited moon.

This was delicate work, and the sheer intricacy of it kept his mind off what was happening planetside. There were sixty satellites, three moons and one large planet, all orbiting, or being orbited by, each other. Each satellite received approximately six thousand pulsating transmissions – containing information about everything from seismic shifts to solar wind gusts - per minute. Docked with the space station, _Enterprise_ was in a geosynchronous orbit with one of the moons, not the planet, so every signal had to be captured, identified, and stored before the satellite moved out of range. Somewhere in that tangle of pulses was a lone GPS signal on the same frequency as the transmitter Hoshi held in her hand, hopefully throbbing out the captain's position.

There was only occasional conversation, for fear of missing some faint sound that could mean the difference between life and death for their captain. It had been four days already, and, given the needle-in-a-haystack nature of this task, Travis and Hoshi both knew that this could be their only hope.

"Moving out of range," Travis said softly. "Seventeen seconds until the next pick-up."

"I hope we haven't missed it already," Hoshi sighed. It would be over a day before they would be able to start over. "If the thing is even working."

"It's here somewhere, Hoshi, I know it is."

"Do you think –" Hoshi began.

"Shh! Did you catch that one?" Hoshi grabbed the transmitter and tried to home in on the signal. So close – there! The frequency matched, and she captured the coordinates in the computer. She threw her arms around Travis's neck, nearly popping his head off his shoulders as she jumped up and down with relief. He grinned at her. Now, all they had to do was pinpoint the captain's location – and hope that he didn't move.

In the Prime Minister's situation room, there was a shocked silence. Eeshon had suddenly upped the ante in a way that nobody had anticipated. So much for voting rights; it was clear that the Pindad were now intending to mount a full scale _coup_ _d'etat_.

T'Pol looked at Reed as she replied, "That is not possible. I have no authority to do that."

"Let me assist you, then. Engage your view screen."

The large view screen in the situation room came to life, revealing an Avdevi seated at a table in a sparse and barren room. He lounged calmly in a chair, seeming almost smug. "Ah, how interesting, a Vulcan. Perhaps sometime you may relate to me how one of your species has come to serve aboard a human starship." He leaned forward slightly. "We each have something the other desires. I represent the government of the Pindad, which chooses to open diplomatic relations with Starfleet."

"Show me Jonathan Archer," T'Pol said, ignoring the political posturing. Eeshon didn't answer, but inclined his head slightly. The view expanded to encompass more of the nondescript room. There, encased in a white box with a clear front panel, sat the captain on the floor, knees drawn up. His cuts and bruises were still visible, and he was clearly exhausted. One short sleeve of his t-shirt hung empty, and he was barefoot. He had about him the look of a man determined to keep it together, but obviously losing hope. Eeshon rose and walked over to the cell.

"As you can see," he said, "your captain has not been harmed, at least not by us. So far, he has been exceptional company, despite our differences of opinion." He smiled gently. "Now, I will be pleased to arrange for his release in exchange for the data we seek."

"I told you, I am not authorized to comply."

Eeshon nodded, as if expecting this response. "Of course, there are proper channels in every endeavor, are there not. Captain Archer, please, order your First Officer to begin the download."

The captain ignored him. He needed to know one important thing first. Standing, pulling himself to his full height, military dignity very much in evidence, he addressed the view screen. "T'Pol, Hoshi?"

T'Pol replied coolly, "Situation resolved to your satisfaction."

The captain gave one satisfied nod, then said, "_Set masu-hali putan'tor_."

"Understood, Captain."

Excluded from this cryptic exchange, Eeshon repeated his request.

Archer raised his chin, and with a closed, hard expression, said clearly, "T'Pol, no deals. That's an order."

Out of range of the transmitter, Trip bowed his head and whispered, "Oh, Jon. . ."

"Captain," T'Pol started, but Archer cut her off, saying more forcefully, "You have your orders, T'Pol, no deals."

"Tsk," replied Eeshon, "that is unfortunate. Let me give you one reason to disobey that order, First Officer T'Pol." He turned and, raising an Avdevi phase pistol, fired one blast. The burst of energy hit Archer squarely, knocking him off his feet and sending him sliding across the floor. T'Pol leaned forward sharply and grasped the table, willing herself not to cry out in dismay.

The captain rolled painfully to his side, curled up protectively, moaning softly.

Eeshon half-turned back to the camera. "I trust my point has been made. Now, Captain, give the order. Please."

Archer huffed a few times, fighting unconsciousness. It would be so easy to give in, to say yes, surely T'Pol would find some way to get out of the deal once he was back safely on his ship. What difference did it make, anyway? Most of the data in the computers would be useless to Eeshon and his cause. He hurt so much. He could fake a promise, go back to the ship, and blow these ruthlessly polite people back to their own Stone Age, that would feel good. Oh, but he hurt so bad.

Eeshon gave him one more moment, then said, softly, almost kindly, "Captain. Please give the order."

Narrowing his eyes into that truculent, defiant expression his senior staff knew so well, he slid his hazel gaze sideways and glared at Eeshon. "_Vaffanculo,_" he snarled.

Not even the highly sophisticated translation device in the Prime Minister's office could decipher that idiom, but Eeshon knew he had not gotten what he had asked for. "Then I will give you five more reasons," he said, and fired again.

This time, a beam caught Archer and set him on fire from the inside. His body defied gravity as it bowed backward impossibly. A vein visibly protruded from his neck as his face turned dusky red. "One, two, three, four, five," Eeshon counted slowly, then released the trigger. Archer slumped to the ground, and lay still.

"I will give you some time to think it over," Eeshon said to T'Pol, and ended the transmission.

This time, both Reed and T'Pol together could barely contain Trip as the commander rounded upon the Prime Minister. Her security guards immediately stepped in front of her and began to bundle her out the door as Trip yelled, "Lady, I don't care what your rules say, YOU GET YOUR BONY ASS TO THE BARGAINING TABLE AND _GIVE THESE PEOPLE THEIR VOTE_!"

"Commander," T'Pol said loudly, but Trip shouted over her.

"Don't TALK to me, T'Pol, about their damn laws, or rules, or protocol –"

"Commander –"

"I just watched my best friend get his CIRCUITS FRIED," his voice began to break, "and these people won't unbend even a little to SAVE his LIFE!"

"Commander, please –"

"I'm goin' up to Enterprise myself and I'm gonna send them every scrap of information in that database so they can blow those rigid idiots to hell and back!"

"Charles!" It took T'Pol's Vulcan strength to push Trip into a chair. Once there, he slumped forward with his head in his hands, knees spread, breathing heavily. He fought to get himself back under control.

After a moment, he sniffed and asked thickly, "What did he say to you?"

"When?"

"Just now, T'Pol, he said something to you that sounded like Vulcan. After he asked about Hoshi, he said, 'T'Pol, _set something-something_.' What did he say?"

She paused. "He said, 'T'Pol, the ship is yours.'"

Trip swallowed and hung his head, hands clasped so tightly, his knuckles turned white. "Y'know, I've known Jon for a lotta years, and I've never seen a look like that in his eyes." He turned his anguished face to Reed, who was close to losing his own composure. "He's not gonna last much longer."

T'Pol crouched down to look the engineer in the eye. She was not an unsympathetic creature, after all, and she understood that it was difficult for Trip to see his captain and friend treated this way and not be able to help. "Commander," she said softly, "the captain is a very strong man."

Trip chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "Of course he is, T'Pol; that's not the point. He's also a smart man. Smart enough to figure out that no hostage equals no bargaining chip."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: You Stop; You Die**

"You don't have to do this," Archer said, sitting tiredly on the floor of his cell. He had awoken to find his cell locked with an energy field and what appeared to be final preparations for war well under way. An experimental tap of the field produced a hum and a mild shock, like touching a light switch with a wet finger, but he was unable to push his hand through to the other side.

Eeshon didn't even turn around. "I appreciate your concern, Captain, but I believe I have exhausted all other options."

"There has to be another option besides war," Archer insisted. "_Enterprise_ is never going to give you what you want. And without that technology, there's no way you can win. You're completely outnumbered and outgunned. You'd be better off giving yourself up."

That got Eeshon's attention. He turned away from the table where he and his five top lieutenants huddled, studying plans, and laughed bitterly. "And be executed on the spot?"

"Avdev has no death penalty," Archer pointed out.

"All right, then spending the rest of my life in a prison cell would accomplish what?" Eeshon looked politely interested but skeptical.

Archer fought to stay focused. "Some of the greatest, most influential revolutionaries in the history of my planet have changed the world from behind prison walls. King, Mandela, Gandhi – you don't know these names, but every school child on Earth does and considers each one a hero."

"I have no desire to be a hero," Eeshon replied.

"And I have no desire to be the cause of a civil war," Archer snapped back. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Turn yourself in. Starfleet can send mediators to negotiate."

"You said Starfleet will not involve itself."

"No," Archer answered, "I said Starfleet won't negotiate with terrorists. Come to the table as a peaceful political group with a grievance, instead of a violent anarchist mob. You could even ask the Vulcans to intercede for you."

"You have more faith in government than I do," Eeshon said simply. "I am not a monster, Captain, despite what you may think. Neither am I a terrorist. I am a patriot and I am willing to use any tool at my disposal to achieve equality for my people. Even you." He began to turn, and then paused and said in a low voice, "If it is customary for your people to prepare themselves for death, I suggest you begin now."

"You're not even going to give me a chance to save myself," Archer accused.

"No," Eeshon agreed, "I am not. That course of action will not benefit my cause."

Archer eyed the door to the cell. "Can I have drink of water, at least," he asked finally.

"Certainly," Eeshon replied. He strode toward the cell bearing a small metal cup, the type Archer might have taken camping back on Earth. He disengaged the energy field that made the cell door impassable, then held out the cup with a courteous smile. Archer reached for it over the threshold, his face neutral. Eeshon hesitated, but did not release the cup. The Avdevi studied the captain's face, then slid his eyes toward the door and back to the prisoner.

Archer waited, body tense. Eeshon's smile faded a little, and then grew wider as he pried the cup out of the captain's hand. "Ah, Captain," he forced a laugh, "I, too, know the laws of physics. It is not -- quite -- time for you to die." He turned a little and reached for the locking mechanism.

Archer sprang forward, willing his aching body to obey. The phase pistol was _right there_; his fingers wrapped themselves around the handle and he yanked upward.

Perhaps if he had been at full strength, he might have succeeded in freeing the pistol from the holster. Maybe if he had had use of his right hand, his dominant hand, the weapon would have come completely free and he could have ended this, right here, right now. But the path of the gun was abruptly stopped as Eeshon grabbed Archer's wrist tightly and held it implacably until the captain sank to his knees. It took no more effort for the Avdevi than if the captain had been a child. Not even a drop of water spilled. He pushed Archer backward, and stood, towering over him, his face like a thundercloud.

It was many seconds before the Avdevi could gain sufficient control of himself to speak. Archer wondered briefly if he had finally found the outer limit of Avdevi courtesy. From the expressions on the faces of Eeshon's lieutenants, who crowded the cell behind their leader, weapons drawn, he guessed he had. The pistol, which Eeshon now held, came to rest in the hollow at the base of Archer's throat.

_So much for avoiding that intergalactic incident_, Archer thought ruefully. _Too bad; I really studied hard for this test._

"I find it difficult to believe," Eeshon remarked finally, "that your people would not bargain for your life." He re-holstered the pistol and stepped through the doorway, activating the energy field. "By the way," he tossed over his shoulder almost casually, "your theory was correct." He hefted the metal cup and flipped it toward the doorway. When it hit the energy field, it sparked and sizzled, suspended by the field itself, absorbing the energy but having no way to conduct it further. After a few seconds, Eeshon knocked it free from the field with the butt of his pistol. The cup fell, charred and smoking, to the floor. More than enough current to kill a human.

Archer swallowed as Eeshon strode to the door, followed by a lieutenant and his second in command. He addressed the three insurgents left behind. "If I am killed or captured, execute the prisoner and send the body to the Prime Minister."

As Eeshon left, Archer tried once more. "You know there's a better way, Eeshon. Just-" The outside door slammed shut as he finished, "just consider it . . ."

Levral steered the Ambassador's transport out of the city limits, toward the area identified by Hoshi and Travis. The Ambassador had insisted they make use of not only his personal transport – which had the value of being allowed to pass through governmental checkpoints without stopping – but also his personal assistant. They had narrowed the GPS signal down to a square kilometer in an uninhabited section hundreds of kilometers from where Dlevec's vehicle had crashed. The government forces were searching for the captain in entirely the wrong region.

As the sedan reached a comfortable altitude, Reed checked his chronometer, acutely conscious that they were rapidly running out of time.

Archer lay on his right side in the corner of the cell. He had lost track of time completely. Had it been five days or six since he had left _Enterprise,_ dressed in borrowed finery and optimism? Longer than that since he'd eaten anything substantial. He wondered if the ship still orbited above him. T'Pol wouldn't give in to Eeshon's demands, he knew, not in a million years. But would she leave him here? Yeah, maybe. _No, she wouldn't_, he scolded himself. Anyway, Trip wouldn't let her. _I'd like to see _that _fight. Talk about your irresistible force hitting your immovable object._ He pressed his face against the wall farthest from the door and moaned loudly. _She doesn't like me, but she respects me, at least, and she wouldn't just leave, right_? He wet his chapped lips. _Of, course, you_ did _just give her your ship, you asshole_. He groaned again. After a moment, the Avdevi guard approached cautiously. Archer writhed a little, whispering, "Help me . . ."

The guard dissolved the energy field and stepped into the cell. Loath to touch the human, he carefully sidled closer and leaned over him. Lacking a translating device, the guard could only study the prisoner's clenched face, trying to find some clue to his ailment. He awkwardly bent over Archer's body, which was showing signs of acute discomfort. He leaned over further.

Archer elbowed the guard in the temple, hard, four times in quick succession, hoping that the humanoid's anatomy was sufficiently similar to his own. The guard crumpled to the floor. Archer rose as quickly as he could, relieved the guard of his heavy phase pistol, and departed the cell. In the next room, two Avdevis sat studying maps. He shot them both without a word, wondering belatedly if the phase pistol was set to kill, then deciding that he didn't really care. They both slumped silently in their chairs.

Out in the night air, he paused to catch his breath. Although his limbs felt like leaden fire, he half-stumbled, half-jogged, still barefoot, toward the rain forest. His mind took up the mantra, _You stop, you die; you stop, you die._

He had run marathons before, pushing on through searing muscle cramps, hearing his own heartbeat drum in his ears. He had climbed mountains, breathing air so thin and cold that it made men see angels. But now the echo of remembered pain sapped his strength easily, and the determination to keep going came not from a challenge to his athletic pride, but from the stone cold knowledge that he must avoid being recaptured at all costs. Cold sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes as he pushed awkwardly, one-handedly, through the dense growth. He did not know where he was going; he only knew that his death at Eeshon's hands would be only one of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands.

As he pressed into the forest, he heard the sound of a landing craft. He sought cover. He knew he hadn't made it nearly far enough, and he had left tracks a blind man could follow. He gripped the weapon as he tried to lose himself in the deep foliage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chap 9:** **Right-Oh, No Pressure**

Reed motioned silently to Trip as they left the Ambassador's sedan and made their way by foot hundred meters or so to the small, squat building sitting by itself in the almost pitch black clearing. It looked non-descript enough, but there was no way to tell how many insurgents it contained. There were lights on inside, but no discernible movements. Again Reed had that nagging feeling that they could very well be too late. He motioned Trip to position himself on the other side of the main door, then counted down silently with his fingers. On his signal, together they stormed the door of the hideout, pistols drawn.

Two Avdevis lay on the floor, unconscious or dead, he couldn't tell. He kicked their weapons away from them. In the next room, another Avdevi was sprawled in the box they recognized as Archer's cell. He was unarmed. The captain was nowhere to be seen. The relaxed their weapons and began checking the room more closely. Trip leafed through the documents strewn across the table as Reed quickly checked what seemed to be a storage room in the cellar. The room was filled with weapons, both pistols and huge anti-aircraft-type guns, all laid out precisely, grouped by category on the floor. He climbed back up the stairs and found Trip.

"Reed to T'Pol. The captain isn't here. We're starting a search of the perimeter."

T'Pol answered evenly, "Lieutenant, Caicpwat fd Eeshon has been captured by government forces. I strongly suggest you find the captain before the Pindad do."

"Right-oh, no pressure," Reed muttered as he closed his communicator. Trip, standing near the outside door, motioned to Reed with a jerk of his head. There, just outside in the muddy path, caught in the beam of Trip's flashlight, was a partial print of a bare human foot.

"You think he went into the jungle?" Reed asked.

"I'd bet my life on it," Trip said. "No way he'd want to stay out in the open." They moved out toward the forest cautiously. As they reached the tree line, there was a sound behind them, and they turned to see the Avdevi guard who had been in the white cell now standing framed in the doorway. He held a small device in his hands. Both officers reached for their pistols, but it wasn't necessary. There was a click, and the entire front façade exploded.

The blast knocked both men off their feet. Trip landed hard on his backside, yelling in pain. "Mother_fu_--!"

Reed instantly flashed back to what he had seen in the cellar and looked at Trip. "Run!" he shouted.

They both sprinted hell-for-leather into the rainforest. Behind them, fire engulfed the little building, and the fireworks began as the ammunition and explosives stored there went up. Flaming missiles pelted through the trees, and they ducked as they ran for cover. The leaves and brush were just wet enough that the whole forest didn't go up in a huge conflagration, but pockets of flame still dotted the forest floor before they were snuffed out by lack of dry fuel.

Eventually, Reed stopped, panting, and Trip pulled up beside him. "Remind me never to bet against you," Reed commented. Trip grinned. They both still had their weapons, and Trip had somehow managed to keep a grip on his flashlight. Reed pulled his torch out as well, and they surveyed their position.

"Well, so much for those great tracks," Reed said. He unclipped the unwieldy transmitter that Hoshi had liberated from the crashed vehicle and turned it on. "At least we can figure out if we're even in the right vicinity." It beeped a few times, and Reed handed it to Trip. "Here, you're more mechanically inclined than I," he said.

Trip found the signal easily, but without the map, which they had left with Levral in the Ambassador's sedan, the coordinates meant nothing. "Anyway, he's around here somewhere." He picked a direction at random and began walking.

The rainforest swallowed them whole. Trip walked parallel to Reed, about ten meters away, searching for broken branches, crushed leaves, any sign that Archer had passed by. He moved slowly, almost silently. He found it unsettling that there were no night sounds, no birds or crickets or anything. A similar environment on Earth would be cacophonous with life.

He stepped forward, then felt a strong push at the small of his back. He landed with a curse face first in the ripe underbrush, his cheek pressed into the slimy leaves. His phase pistol landed just out of his reach. In the split second it took to get his bearings and begin to rise, he felt something heavy fall across his neck, constricting his windpipe. And then the muzzle of a gun pressed firmly against his temple. He could feel the hum of the energy coursing through it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark shadow of a grimly set, familiar face. Not a glimmer of recognition flickered there. He couldn't draw enough breath to call out to Reed. He could only croak, weakly, "Captain. . ."

The knee at his throat shifted slightly, but the gun never moved. He tried again, stronger this time, "Captain, it's me, Trip . . . Cap'n . . .Cap'n, it's Trip . . . Jon?"

Finally, slowly, the pressure at his temple eased, and Archer slid down to sit on the ground, his wrist resting on his raised knee. Trip rolled over onto his back, keeping his hands as much in plain sight as the inky darkness would allow. Reed approached and illuminated them both with his flashlight.

Archer shook his head slightly as he gave an ironic snort and remarked, "I can't believe . . . she sent the _Disaster Twins_ to rescue me . . ."

The phase pistol was still pointed squarely in Trip's direction.

"Captain, here, let us help you," Reed said softly, eyes on the phase pistol, as he took a step forward. "Give me the pistol, sir."

Archer's face was a study in exhaustion. In the torch beam, the officers could see the deep cuts and scratches from the crash on his face. Beads of blood-tinged sweat rolled from his brow, and he tried to blink them out of his eyes. He glanced down at the weapon, then back up at Trip. The pistol stayed trained on the engineer. Archer was silent.

Finally, Trip leaned forward slowly and grasped the captain's left hand, aiming the phase pistol off to the side. There was no resistance. He gently pried open Archer's locked fingers, one by one, and laid the weapon carefully on the ground. He wrapped his friend's hand in both of his. "We found you," he said simply. "It's okay now." His body eloquent with utter fatigue, Archer let his forehead rest gratefully against Trip's shoulder, his reserves gone.

"Reed to T'Pol." The lieutenant's voice was remarkably steady.

"T'Pol here."

"We have the captain. It's going to take us a bit of time to get him back to the transport. Make sure Levral stays where he is."

"What is the captain's condition?" T'Pol asked.

Reed eyed Archer, who lifted his chin in a pitifully unconvincing attempt to show that he could still move under his own power. "Get Phlox."

T'Pol was waiting at door of the medical facility when Levral smoothly landed the Ambassador's sedan. Her impassive face betrayed no emotion, yet Trip noticed that from the moment the captain was carried into the hospital from the transport, she never left his side.

Now that the adrenaline rush that had kept him going for the past several days was subsiding, the captain began to succumb to the siren call of oblivion. He searched the alien faces hovering above him for the one that would make it okay to relinquish his tenuous hold on reality. Finally, she appeared, all cool competence and unflappability. He watched, amused in one corner of his brain, as she pointedly ignored all polite suggestions that she wait outside the examination room. As protocol forbade the doctors to move her physically, as if they ever could, she simply stayed, bending near as he wet his lips and drew a shallow breath. Too drained for extended conversation, he simply asked his First Officer, "Everybody okay?" and the thinness of his voice startled her.

"All hands are accounted for and safe," she assured him with her usual matter-of-fact tone. He pinned her with a gaze that clearly said, _And?_ She knew he would keep asking until she gave him a political update as well. She offered the abbreviated version. "Furthermore, all of the top leaders of the Pindad movement have been taken into custody." Archer gave a satisfied nod, and, for the first time in more than five days, drifted off into a natural sleep.

She would explain later about the dozens of riots that had erupted on each of the three inhabited continents, incited by Pindad forces, to prime the population for the _coup de grace_, his public execution. Later, he could see the news footage of the forceful containment of those riots, martial law imposed, resulting in hundreds of civilian casualties. But not right now.

The Avdevi physicians debated amongst themselves for several hours regarding the proper course of treatment. Their patient was at once starved, dehydrated, exhausted, fractured, and concussed, and they knew that if he suffered any further damage at their hands, the precarious peace that still held by a thread would be shattered. Ultimately, the Avdevi doctors reported that they could only make Archer comfortable until Dr. Phlox, with his encyclopedic knowledge of human anatomy, arrived on-planet to escort the patient home.

The Denobulan doctor looked appalled as he surveyed the damage. "The head injury and broken ribs will heal in a short time," he said brusquely, his expression dark," but the captain is extremely lucky those shots from that Avdevi phase pistol didn't stop his heart. I will be very glad to get him to Sickbay."

Relinquishing the captain to the care of the doctor she trusted, T'Pol stepped aside to speak with the Ambassador. "What will happen to Eeshon and the Pindad now?"

The Ambassador folded his hands. "Caicpwat fd Eeshon and his co-conspirators will be tried for treason and murder. It is unlikely they will ever see the light of day again. The Prime Minister has already vowed to introduce legislation to deal with the situation. I have no doubt her solution will include a second diaspora to dilute the power of the lower caste tribes." He lowered his voice. "But approximately one hour ago, the new leadership of the Pindad made a formal request for an audience with your Starfleet, a political petition I shall pursue myself. Once that audience is granted, if it is, diplomatic authority will override domestic. I expect any such legislation will be put on hold, indefinitely. Such is the painted face we present to the rest of the galaxy." He shrugged, looking almost human as he did so. "You see, protocol does sometimes have its uses."


	10. Chapter 10

**Epilogue: The Star and Orbit Pin**

Having spent the better part of six days either in Sickbay or dealing with the aftermath of the Avdevi near-disaster, Archer kept the first staff meeting since his rescue short. His senior officers, all seeming to understand the level of his fatigue and lingering pain, deferred most issues for another day.

On his fourth day back on _Enterprise_, once he had been released from Sickbay to his quarters, the captain had sought out each of them privately, Travis and Hoshi, T'Pol, Trip, and Malcolm, to thank them for their respective roles in his rescue and in averting an Avdevi civil war. Based on his and T'Pol's reports, the Vulcans had immediately agreed to send an emergency mediation team to Avdev, and Starfleet had promised that an Ambassador Plenipotentiary would arrive in the Daenaris system within the next solar year.

On the fifth day, he had traveled, alone, back to the planet's surface to attend the funeral ritual for the ambassadorial escort, Dlvec, and to participate in one last formal ceremony required by Avdevi law.

He admitted no discomfort now that he was back on light duty. Although he still moved slowly, with little of his natural grace or athleticism, he deflected every inquiry about his health with a reserved, "Better, thank you." His right arm was now in a cloth sling, tight against his body. His facial lacerations were healing, but still appeared red and angry. And the lingering effects of the insurgents' phaser showed in the creases of his face as he shifted his weight carefully in his chair.

Commander Tucker, the last to report, finished his cursory report on the status of the now-fully-overhauled engines. He would wait to tell the captain about the major upgrade accomplished by the Avdevi maintenance crew as part of the Parliament's ongoing effort to save face.

The captain didn't want to hear even one more thing about Avdevi protocol. Just yesterday, after the somber burial rites were over, he had spent the most uncomfortable ten-hour stretch of his life as each of the seventy-eight surviving Members of Parliament had presented themselves to him in the Embassy building, and offered to commit ritual suicide as payment for Archer's ordeal. As protocol required, he had listened to each lengthy _mea culpa_ in its entirety before refusing the request and granting formal forgiveness. The ceremony, which had been broadcast to the population over state channels, had exhausted him. He wanted nothing more than to leave orbit and chase another star through blessedly silent space.

But, first things first.

"Anybody have anything else to add?" he asked into the silence. No one spoke. "Then I have one last order of business." He painfully rose to his feet, and, with difficulty, opened a small box that lay next to his left hand. He cleared his throat. "For her courage under fire, for her extraordinary creativity and ingenuity in the face of impossible odds, and for –" he looked down at the table, trying to swallow the lump of emotion and regain control of his voice, "for saving the life of her captain, I present Ensign Hoshi Sato this field commendation," he plucked the delicate star and orbit pin from its velvet bed, "with my most profound thanks."

Hoshi stood, red faced, while her crew mates broke out into loud applause. Archer walked around the table to Hoshi, and awkwardly attached the pin to her uniform with his left hand. He shook her hand, then kissed each cheek for good measure with a whispered, "Thank you."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Thank you, sir," she whispered back. "It's good to have you back."

"We are adjourned. I'll be in my quarters." Archer picked up the empty box and waited while his bridge crew, save T'Pol, left for duty. Snapping it shut, he slid it into his pocket and headed for the door.

"Captain," T'Pol said.

Archer stopped.

"I-" She searched for the right words. "That is, I wished to tell you . . ." He waited until she finally met his eyes. "Were I ever in a situation such as this one, I would wish to handle it with as much . . . discipline as you displayed."

_She's proud of you_, he thought, and answered aloud, "Thank you, T'Pol. That means a lot to me, coming from you. You have the bridge." He opened the door.

She still owed him a proper response from well over a week ago, the truth of it proved by the intervening events. She said it softly, in a correctly sibilant accent he could never hope to approximate, but he still heard the words as he stepped into the corridor. "_Int'at yi, h'lya t'nt'shnara meth_."

_Indeed, Captain, it is a fine, fine crew._

_A/N: _I hope you enjoyed this story. Thanks for reading.


End file.
